


The Collector

by frostian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Dean Winchester is Good at Feelings, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gaslighting, M/M, Mental Disintegration, Monster of the Week, Post-Canon Fix-It, no beta we die like grammarly, terrible at talking about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostian/pseuds/frostian
Summary: Castiel is free, thanks to Team Free Will 3.0. And his relationship with Dean is reaching a turning point that promises a future the former angel didn't even dare to dream of. But, before they could have a serious talk, Dean is forced to leave for a week-long trip; a retrieval that isn't supposed to be at all dangerous.However, in the middle of collecting cursed artifacts, Dean disappears with the only clue being texts consisting of pictures of him looking happy and at peace. As days pass, Castiel and Sam scramble to find him, and come across a monster so ancient not even myths of his existence have survived the passage of time.And this monster has set his sights on Dean, in order to add the hunter to a collection that would horrify even angels.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 8





	1. My Own Private Idaho

Castiel felt warmth, which precipitated him to flinch before further curling into himself. He knew, just _knew_ , that the Shadow was playing another trick on him. It must have gotten bored of repeating all of Castiel’s failures: not from its immeasurable imagination, but from Castiel’s memories.

Castiel’s heart breaking and his prison of holy oil flickering, as Dean begged hoarsely to tell the truth. That he wasn’t working with Crowley. That Castiel wouldn’t betray him so utterly.

Castiel’s cold, merciless triumph as he ordered Dean to kneel and worship him, because he was the new God. As if someone like Dean would ever take credence of a false prophet steeped in cruelty and heartless violence.

Castiel failing, deceiving, turning away from the man who would time and again throw himself, body and soul, to save a world that seemed unworthy just by its ignorance of Dean’s sacrifices.

“They did it,” The Shadow had hissed, cackling in glee. “Dean stopped God. Dean was strong enough, good enough, loving enough, to halt God’s destruction of his world.

“And he didn’t need you to do it. Not that he ever did. Pity, curiosity, burden of loyalty was what kept him by your side. It’s a good thing then, that he’s gotten rid of you, don’t you think? That way, Dean Winchester is finally free to get what he deserves. Love from a _woman_ , a family perhaps? A baby or two, because we both know he would make an excellent father.”

Those words lashed at Castiel for time immemorial, or at least that seemed like the passage of time for him, until the warmth that slithered over his body like a viper. Castiel didn’t want to open his eyes. Not ever again. What else was there to see but the cloying blackness? And his own face, a garish caricature of himself, grinning back at him. A smile too wide, too ripped at the seams to ever be considered sane.

Best that he remained shut down, locked away, behind the fortress of his pain. 

A single hand wrapped itself around his bicep, forcing Castiel to shiver. Then, he felt something stir within. His Grace, long thought dead, curled outwards, hungry and grasping for recognition. Towards that hand, a hand that bled warmth through his clothes and into his body.

“Cas?”

Castiel hummed and shook his head. It was just another trick. Just another way to tear him apart. That couldn’t be Dean. No way would Dean be in…

“Cas? C’mon, buddy, it’s me.”

Now another hand threaded its way through his hair. And the fingers … oh the fingers felt so real, radiating heat Castiel hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. He could almost outline the rough calluses scratching through his scalp, and the poorly-trimmed nails that caught his hair, as the hand stroked gently: Reverently.

“Cas, you’re scaring me. I didn’t radio Winchester's Greatest Hits into the Empty for you to ignore me, right? C’mon, buddy, open your eyes.”

“Dean, he could be catatonic.”

That voice startled Castiel enough to reconsider his decision to stay curled up. Out of everyone he had been tormented with, the Shadow never used Eileen Leahy as a method of torture.

He felt someone else lean into his space and couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping.

“Jesus, what did that fucker do to you?”

Then a scent assailed him and Castiel forgot everything, including his fears. It was the familiar blend of mellow, warm days under a kind sun, if such a blessed moment could have a scent. Mixed with iron of all things, and underneath it all was honey still bracketed in wax, lying exposed in Castiel’s hands, bountiful and sweet. 

The scent meant regret. It meant friendship and warm hands on his shoulders. It meant cool bottles of beer, even though Castiel wasn’t thirsty. 

It reminded him of green eyes that looked at him with absolute faith, with wonder that made Castiel feel very small and so powerful at the same time. A solid presence next to him, even when confronting nightmares from the darkest pits of hell. It meant never giving up, even when your body, heart, and hope lay shattered at your feet.

It meant Dean.

Castiel opened his eyes, and blinked as _light_ painfully blinded him. It took only a moment before Dean’s familiar face came into focus. Without warning, Dean dragged him into his arms, even though Castiel was curled up like a frightened animal.

“Oh Christ, Cas … fuck…” Dean sobbed into Castiel’s hair, his voice shattering over his friend’s consciousness, freeing him from the prison of his mind.

There was thunder of footsteps that Castiel recognized, right before Sam appeared in the doorway.

“Holy fuck,” Sam whispered. “It worked? It worked?!”

Dean’s answer was sobbing laughter. Sam kneeled next to Castiel.

“Good to see you, Cas,” Sam said, tears falling down his face. “Gotta tell you, Dean went nuts trying to get you back.”

Eileen appeared in view, nodding vigorously. “Craaazzzzyyyy…”

Cas wanted to laugh but all he could do was cough weakly. He shivered then, and tried drag his trench coat tighter into his frame. But his fingers refused to cooperate so all he did was roll right into Dean’s chest.

“Okay, let’s get you warm,” Dean said. Then, without preamble, he lifted Cas into his arms in a bridal carry.

Sam hovered right beside them as Dean made his way through the hallways. It was obvious they were in the Bunker, but Castiel’s memory was still fuzzy, so he didn’t bother to examine his surroundings any further.

The moment they entered the showers, Castiel realized what Dean wanted to do. He tried to stand but his muscles screamed in protest. Dean must have felt his struggle because his grip tightened.

“Yeah, let’s not,” Dean said. He shared a look with Sam, and the Midwich Cuckoos did their thing.

Sam turned on the showers, all of them. And soon, the room was steaming. Dean didn’t bother undressing, and didn’t touch Castiel’ clothing. Instead, he just stepped under the spray and unceremoniously sat down, with Castiel still in his arms.

Castiel closed his eyes and allowed the hot water to soak his tired, cold body. He didn’t know how long it took before his muscles began unclenching. And agony was forefront in his mind as Dean finally began undressing him. The shoes, the socks, the coat, Dean peeled them slowly and with care, all the while massaging Castiel’s limbs, as if he was suffering from hypothermia. 

Sam reappeared with heap of towels and a dove-grey robe. He put them aside and whispered to Eileen, who immediately disappeared.

“She’s going to make tea for you,” Sam explained. 

“Good idea,” Dean muttered as he reverently placed Castiel’s tie on the growing mound of clothes. 

Then, with even greater care, Dean kept undressing Castiel. The former angel would have felt embarrassment had he not been so grateful for Dean’s gentle ministrations.

And even though he was naked, all Castiel could feel was the hot water sluicing away what felt like eons worth of torturous memories, leaving nothing but gratitude in its wake.

“I remembered, you know?” Dean spoke conversationally, as he adjusted Castiel in order for his friend to remain under the hot shower. “How you annoyed the Shadow so much that it tossed you out of the Empty.”

Sam snorted. “You should’ve seen him. I knew Dean was annoying, but he reached a whole new level of aggravation trying to force it to let you go.”

Castiel frowned and looked at Dean. _What did he do?_

Dean’s answer was a shit-eating grin. “I knew Jack couldn’t get you out, but he could open a connection to the Empty. So, I decided to wake its master with the most aggravating music, sound, noise … anything that would wake it, and keep it awake.”

Castiel felt his mouth open in shock. He looked at Sam who managed to look even more smug than his brother. 

“I made contributions, of course,” Sam bragged.

“He came up with ‘99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall’,” Dean elaborated. “There was German beer hall music, too.”

“Nails screeching down a chalkboard,” Sam helpfully supplied. “Alarm clocks, Taps, F-16 doing Mach 2. Anything and everything that has ever annoyed a living creature? We found it, and broadcasted it into that rift.”

Castiel’s gaze bounced between the Winchester, even though his neck muscles were screaming in protest. 

Dean saw his incredulous look and said, “The Macarena. Tires blowing out … the Underground announcing ‘Mind the Gap’. Seriously, we tapped everyone we could, and they came up big.”

“And we did it round the clock, Sundays included,” Sam said with a small flourish. 

“It took us two months to get you out,” Dean added softly. He saw the quizzical look on Castiel’s face. “Three months, Buddy. Three months since you were taken.”

“And we didn’t make any deals, either,” Sam explained. “It must have been half crazed by the time it agreed to let you go.”

Castiel let out a soundless laugh. Of course, the Winchesters would find a way to rescue him. And not for the first time Castiel wondered how could someone like Chuck, who lacked greatly, create these two souls who contained so much within themselves?

Castiel didn’t know how long he and Dean sat under the showers, and he didn’t care. The pain that had so long ruled over his body faded, and it didn’t hurt Castiel to take deep breaths any more. Even better, his Grace coiled inside him, vibrating with the need to unfurl.

Castiel took his time, but he was able to dry himself. Dean, on the other hand, didn’t even bother; he just looped a towel around his neck. He stood a respectful distance, but always within arm’s reach should Castiel need him. Eileen even brought slippers for him, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the cold cement floors. She also handed him a huge mug of hot tea. 

The group quietly shuffled down a familiar hall until they stood in front of the door right next to Dean’s room.

Sam and Eileen quietly disappeared then, along with Castiel’s wet clothing.

Dean opened the door, and turned on the lights. Castiel followed him, his gaze never wavering from the man in front of him. Only when Dean closed the door did Castiel finally take in his surroundings.

For a moment Castiel couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. For instance, the bed was larger than Dean’s. And looked twice as expensive. It had to be at least queen-sized with a fortress of pillows, and a thick duvet. It was bracketed by two night tables, made of solid wood. Both topped with set of matching bedside lamps.

There was a leather armchair in the corner alongside an antique drafting table piled with notebooks and sketch pads. An old-fashioned radio sat alongside a desk lamp, with a framed picture in the middle. 

Castiel made his way to it and studied the photo. It was of Claire, looking at something to her right. There was a carefree smile on her face that allowed Castiel to relax further.

The walk-in closet was open and a generous dresser sat inside. On it was a leather tray with a new wallet and familiar stack of false federal and state law enforcement IDs. Castiel felt tears sting as he examined the wallet’s contents.

“I remember…” Dean stopped for a moment. “I remember you telling me how hard it was after you fell. So … so we set up a new identity for you. There’s a driver’s license, Social Security card … everything you need. And a credit card, too. Just in case.”

And there was money, also. Three hundred dollars in neat twenty-dollar bills.

Castiel slowly pulled open a dresser and found everything he could possibly need from underclothing to t-shirts and sweats. The closet also supported an array of non-descript suits and crisp, white dress shirts.

“They’re all new,” Dean explained. “But I washed them, so they’re soft. I remember … I remember how hard everything was after you pulled me out of hell. For some reason I couldn’t wear clothes off the rack. It hurt my skin too much.”

Castiel wondered if he could ever think of a way to pay back Dean for all this. 

“Cas?”

Dean’s tremulous tone forced Castiel to look at his savior. Dean silently handed over a phone whose screen revealed an app with an icon of a blinking red button.

“This is a panic button,” he explained. “No matter where I am, I’ll get the signal, okay? We got some hunters wondering around, and they’re a rough bunch. If they’re too much, hit that button and I’ll get you.”

Castiel looked at the phone, his fingers grazing the screen. He then looked at Dean and frowned. He wanted to ask, but his throat was still too raw.

He still managed to croak out, “Hunt…”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, the last one Sam and I were supposed to take care of turned out to be a vamp’s nest. But then Jack dropped by and told us what he could do, so we sent a group of hunters instead. Probably one of our better decisions. These bloodsuckers were led by someone we met right after Sam left Stanford.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in shock.

“Yeah, she was ready for the Winchesters. What she got was an army of pissed-off hunters looking for a pair of missing kids. We were told it was bloody but short.”

“Sam has ideas about networking the Hunters permanently, you know? Maybe having home base in each state, so we don’t have to travel across country every other week. Not that everyone’s okay with the idea, especially the older ones. But the younger generation don’t seem to mind it too much. And they like the idea of networking. We just have to be careful how to go about doing that.”

Castiel pointed at Dean.

“Right now? I’m on stand-by. And so is Sam. Eileen’s been going out on the regular, but she’s sticking pretty close to home. Anyway, none of this matters right now. What matters is getting you healthy.”

Castiel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. But before he could say anything, Dean stepped into his personal space until they were almost touching. He leaned a little and whispered.

“Yeah, I remember. And no, I’m not embarrassed by what you said before everything went to shit. And yeah, we’re gonna talk about it. We’re gonna talk about everything. But first? I need you to live. I need to see that you’re on the mend. ‘Cause I stood over your body way too many times. So, I need to stop mourning over losing you. Which, let me tell you, is one hell of mountain to climb.”

He then leaned closer and placed a tender kiss on Castiel’s forehead, turning him into a statue.

“Get some rest. If you need me, I’m right next door.”

Castiel deposited his mug on the night table before his right hand found its way onto a familiar place on Dean’s shoulder. Once again, his Grace surged forward, and from Dean’s face, he could feel it, too.

Without a word Castiel crawled into bed, under his friend's watchful gaze. Dean didn’t turn off the lights, and fiddled with the thermostat, ensuring Castiel would be warm enough.

The former prisoner wondered if he would ever close his eyes again. That was Castiel’s last thought before falling asleep. The level of his exhaustion became evident when he woke and took nearly thirty minutes to get out of bed. Castiel reluctantly changed into comfortable clothes, before taking a glance at the mirror. The angel might have felt better, but he still looked like a road kill left in the Arizona desert for way too long.

He flipped the phone in his hands and noted it was just barely past seven in the morning. Even driven by hunger, he still stopped by Dean’s door but heard no response to his knocking. However, he smelled bacon and coffee, which meant Dean was probably cooking breakfast. Sam was a genius, and a good hunter, but he was utterly hopeless when it came to the kitchen. If there wasn’t someone constantly giving orders or correcting him, Sam was liable to set marble on fire if it were on a skillet. Of course, Castiel wasn’t any better, whether he was human or angel. Which left Dean as the cook, a state of affairs that Dean never minded. Even Mary Winchester bowed down to her son's superior culinary skills whenever she was around.

Castiel tried to speak, but found it painful to go above a whisper. He wondered if the vocal damage was permanent, but doubted it. The Shadow had him screaming the moment he was in its grasp, but Castiel stopped making noises soon enough. Hopefully whatever damage was done, it would heal with time.

Castiel shuffled his way to the galley, and came upon a group in the library. It consisted of two men and a woman, all focused on the chaotic display of laptops, tablets, and books spread over the large table.

The woman was the first to notice him. “Oh, hey. Did you come in last night?”

Castiel nodded, pointing at his throat and miming words.

“Ouch,” she said. “Did you go up against a banshee?”

Castiel shook his head. “I am Castiel,” he managed to whisper.

“You’re the angel!” the younger man said, eyes wide with wonder. “Jesus Christ! Oh shit, sorry about that! Not … never mind. The Winchesters were working round the clock to get you back for like months! They actually did it? Really?”

The woman looked at her companion with something akin to maternal dismay. “That’s Rick. I’m Leona. The one smart enough to keep his mouth shut is Jason. We got here two days ago, after taking out a nest of djinns.”

Castiel’s gaze widened. _Nest_?

Leona saw his shock and nodded. “Surprised us, too. There were four of them.”

Rick added, “Sixteen women went missing in a space of five weeks. But because they were prostitutes no one gave a damn.”

Castiel sighed and shook his head. Prejudices such as these have existed as long as civilization stood. 

“You’re actually an angel?” Jason asked, studying Castiel with clinical curiosity. “Sorry, I was just expecting … more from what Dean’s been saying about you.”

“Wow, who pissed on your Wheaties?” Leona snapped.

Castiel knew he looked like a tired elementary school teacher, and took no offense. Though Jason’s cold stare made him wonder if the hunter would become a problem later on.

“What were you expecting, McComb? Fluffy white wings and a halo?” Dean snapped from the doorway.

Castiel knew just from Dean’s voice that his friend was ready for a throw down. Not that Dean looked that frightening, with a spatula in his right hand and a dish towel draped over his shoulder. Nevertheless, the warning was clear: ‘Shut the fuck up’.

Jason raised his hands. “Hey, I was just saying. The guy looked like he went up against a rougarou and lost.”

“Yeah, well, let’s see how well you look after being locked up in the Arctic with no food and water for months. With a cosmic sadist for company,” Dean said. He then looked at Castiel. “C’mon, breakfast is ready.”

Then, without any prompting, Dean ushered Castiel with a companionable arm on his shoulder.

Castiel took a seat and gave a grateful nod when Dean gave him his usual mug of coffee. He took a drink and barely stopped himself from bursting into tears as the hot liquid slid down his throat. A bowl of steaming porridge soon followed. Castiel spooned it to discover dates buried at the bottom. A jar of honey appeared at his elbow, which he used generously.

Despite his ravenous hunger, Castiel ate slowly, savoring every spoonful. And the plate of bacon Dean placed in front of him disappeared steadily along with the porridge. Dean joined him with and empty cup and a carafe filled with coffee.

“I ate earlier,” Dean explained when Castiel quirked an eyebrow.

“I’ll have things warmed up all day, so you can eat more,” Dean said. “But we gotta go slow. The last thing you need is to get sick from the food.”

Castiel suspected this advice came from personal experience. 

“Easy food, first. And fruit, lots of fruit,” Dean muttered, almost to himself. “Then you can start eating heavier meals. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how skinny you got.”

Castiel winced and nodded. 

“How’s your angel mojo?” Dean asked. “Not that I want you to test it out right now. But I felt something last night.”

“Grace is thin,” Castiel whispered. “Feels like rain drying out in the sun. But I believe some of it will remain.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “No problem. The only thing you have to worry about is getting better. That’s it: Priority one, two, and three.”

Castiel shook his head. “I…”

Dean leaned forward, enough that he loomed over Castiel across the table. “Sam is doing research for other hunters. He’s also creating some encyclopedia of the monsters we’ve ganked over the years. He and Eileen are giggling like kids, so I refuse to ask them any questions. I got injured couple of weeks ago. Missed a goddamn step on the stairs and took a tumble. Managed to land on my ass, but my right knee is being a bitch right now.”

Castiel blinked. Dean rarely, if ever, confess about any weakness, physical or not.

“So, you’re not the only one sitting out. And let’s face it: I’m on the wrong side of forty. Something _nobody_ ever thought would happen; that includes me. Maybe we’re the B team now, and that’s fine. The younger hunters are pretty damn good; at least the ones I’ve come across. And they’re not afraid to ask for help, which is even better.”

Castiel couldn’t hide his shock at the confession. 

Dean took one look at his face and gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I know. If you asked me when I was thirty if I thought I’d retire willingly, I would’ve probably laughed myself stupid. But … Cas, we stopped three Apocalypses from happening. Seriously, Team Free Will 3.0. What the hell? It’s a miracle, no thanks to Chuck, that we’re still standing. And we raised God. Think about that, Cas. Our kid is now God. How are we ever going to top that?”

Castiel sat back and considered what Dean was saying. “Jack is God?”

Dean blinked. “Holy shit, yeah. Umm … after the Empty stole you, we had a showdown with Chuck. And while he was throwing a hissy fit, Jack absorbed all his powers like a sponge. Enough that he was able to TKO the selfish brat.”

“Where is Jack?” Castiel managed to scrape out.

“In the rain,” Dean answered softly. “Everywhere, Cas. He’s trying to repair all the damage Chuck has done, and that includes the weird greatest hits thing he had going in heaven.”

Castiel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dean was right, of course. Jack, the son a creature like Castiel couldn’t even dare to dream of, was now undoing the malicious work of his predecessor with the careful sweetness that was so integral to his personality.

“Hey,” Dean whispered. “Remember, Jack is part of the reason we were able to get you back. Him being God … doesn’t make him any less Jack. If anything he proves the old saying. You raise your kid right, and they will outdo whatever dreams you have for them.

“And we did it, Cas. You, me, and Sam. We did it.”

Castiel buried his face in his hands and began to weep. He didn’t see Dean rise from his chair, but when he felt the man’s solid warmth, Castiel leaned in, feeling so very tired and elated beyond measure. This achievement had outstripped every triumph Castiel had earned in his entire existence, save for rescuing Dean from Hell.

And he knew, that no matter how much Dean protested, that the Righteous Man was integral to bringing about the end of Chuck’s reign, allowing a more hopeful future for all of mankind.

It took a while for Castiel to gather himself, but when he did, Dean immediately placed a spinach omelet alongside a salad. And Castiel was hungry enough that he didn’t ask about the salad, just grateful that Dean was thinking about his food intake, as Castiel hadn’t a clue how to track it for himself.

Sam wandered in and Eileen soon followed. Another hunter, who startingly reminded Castiel of Sam when he’d first met the younger Winchester, eagerly followed behind. The three joined them, continuing their previous conversation without hesitation. Castiel was pleased to note they were discussing cursed objects and not a dangerous hunt.

“So, someone’s been dumping these all over the West Coast,” Sam explained with a sigh, pulling up images on his laptop.

Castiel took a look and paled considerably. He recognized few of the items, and the fact that these were dispersed into the general population meant a lot of trouble in the days ahead. He gave an alarmed glance at Dean, who rubbed his face in a tell-tale sign of weariness.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said. “Someone’s looking to stir up trouble?”

Eileen shook her head. “Estate sale.”

Dean moaned. “So, Gomez Addams kicked the bucket, and we’re scrambling.”

The young hunter gave a loud snort. “That or H .P. Lovecraft did spring cleaning, but either way, these things should not be circulating.”

“What’s the worst they could do, Jim?” Dean asked.

“The worst?” Jim pointed at a ceremonial knife. “This beauty here can make your wish come true, but it demands a human sacrifice.”

“Least?” Castiel asked, trying to recollect what he could about an elaborate garnet necklace. Even in the black and white photo, it looked sinister enough to make him wince.

“Have no idea,” Jim confessed. “But all these objects are cursed, so we can safely assume it’s going to range from unfortunate accidents to mass murders.”

“That’s just friggin’ fantastic,” Dean snarled, taking a look at the list. “How do you want to work this?”

Sam shrugged. “We could break up the list and go after them before they’re sold. Eileen and I could tackle California.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean said gratefully. He looked at Castiel. “I hate California.”

“Bad hunt?” Eileen asked sympathetically.

“Crazy admirer,” Sam answered. “She was really sweet on Dean, and that was before he saved her mother.”

“She was also fifteen,” Dean explained further. “And had like real social media thing going. I had to do some ungodly things not to appear on Twitter or some other bullshit.”

Castiel bit down his smile as Dean shivered dramatically. 

“Can you imagine me on Tik Tok?” Dean asked. “It’d be a nightmare.”

“So, you’ll take Idaho, then?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, sounds good. How about you Jim?” 

“Washington and Oregon,” Jim answered quickly. “I’ve been to Tacoma a few times.”

Dean looked at Sam. “Oh yeah, remember that case?”

Sam’s smile softened. “That one is definitely for the books.”

Dean caught Cas’ curious look. “I’ll tell you about it some time. A vengeful ghost and a love tragedy that’s been brewing since before WWII.”

Jim printed out the list and divided the workload. Castiel felt wistful and wanted nothing more than to accompany Dean. But he knew at his current state he was a liability, and Castiel still wasn’t sure how his Grace was faring. The former angel didn’t care if it faded away, leaving him fully human. Though the logical part of him desired to retain some of his powers, if only to heal Sam and Dean when they inevitably got hurt.

However, if they were going to curtail their hunting activities, then perhaps Castiel wouldn’t face as many dangers, either. It was a nice fairytale, but Castiel soon dismissed the thought. He knew they would never be out of the woods. As long as their presence was known in the supernatural world, the Winchesters would be a huge target.

Dean kept him company, and even allowed him to enter his bedroom while he packed. Castiel surreptitiously took a deep breath while watching Dean examine his personal array of weaponry before choosing his trusty 9mm and Desert Eagle for the trip. Dean had a light scent for an omega, but it brought nothing but pleasure and a singular peace for the former angel. So, being in Dean's room was a concentrated bit of heaven for Castiel. 

He looked around the room and noted that Dean had purchased more pillows. 

Dean caught his gaze and grinned. “There was a sale. And I know Sam says feather pillows are the best, but I like the foam ones better.”

Castiel took a pillow and felt it. He preferred the ones Sam had prescribed, but the pillowcase was rich with Dean’s scent. Not that he would admit such a thing to his friend. 

“You can borrow it, if you want,” Dean offered innocently, probably thinking Castiel wanted to add more to his already large collection.

Castiel gave a nod of thanks and hurried into his room to stash away the gift. He tucked it next to his side of the bed, wondering if human Alphas did something akin to this. And felt conflicted as he mulled over that thought. But the moment he laid down to rest and took a deep sniff of the pillow, all doubts vanished. He wanted nothing more than to hold it in his arms, and drown in Dean’s scent, as he was well aware that particular bit of wonder would fade within a day or two.

One of the reasons that Castiel wore the damn trench coat was the fact that it had unreasonable amount of sway over Dean, as the man seemed to want to touch it every other minute when they were together. A hand placed on the shoulder, elbow, cuffs, or in more dire occasions, the lapels.

There were few, precious, heady moments when Dean was actually pressed up to Castiel so closely that the entire trench coat had soaked up Dean’s scent. 

The first time this happened, Castiel actually believed he was hallucinating Dean’s presence, even though he was an angel. It was only after spending time with Dean that he realized the omega didn’t practice suppressing his scent like his brethren: a practice that was no longer considered the norm but still widely used. Since WWII, omega rights had exploded and taken center of most humanitarian concerns. And scent suppression had been forefront of the fight for omegas to have equal footing alongside betas and alphas.

It was a quiet conversation with Sam that revealed for an omega, Dean’s scent was light if not outright neutral; that his brother would routinely forget to wear blockers because he rarely needed it. And even when he was going through his cycle, Dean’s hormones didn’t produce enough scent to trigger any mating instincts of alphas close enough to catch it.

Not that was a problem in the 21st century, but Castiel was aware too many alphas used age-old prejudices to justify their horrific behavior. As an angel Castiel appreciated Dean’s scent, because it afforded him a feeling of warm, luxurious contentment. A state of affairs that was in complete contrast when confronted with Dean’s behavior, which could trigger Castiel’s temper and fear to an astronomical degree.

As their relationship grew, Castiel had come across Dean while the omega was in cycle, but all it did was make him feel protective and territorial. It was only when he fell and became completely human that Castiel was able to define the nuances of his reaction to Dean’s scent. Castiel was many things, but he was never blind to his shortcomings. After all, he was God’s soldier, and had been since long before Man appeared. So, he tried to deal with the chaos of his emotions the best he could: By keeping his mouth shut.

But, when it came to actually dealing with his human charge, all Castiel could do was fumble and hope for the best because Dean was permanently fixed in his blind spot. And now, here he was, in the bunker, with what looked like a momentous change in his relationship with Dean looming on the horizon.

What made Castiel even more nervous was the way Dean looked at him during the last twenty-four hours. The way his hands trailed over Castiel’s shoulders, as if to ensure himself that Castiel was truly present. That the way the man’s voice broke repeatedly, and the barely-held tears, all spoke to a great emotional upheaval for his friend.

So, his naptime turned into a wrestling match with the desire to sleep and the need to confirm his suspicions. The need to discover the truth won out, and Castiel found himself going back down to the basement on shoeless feet.

The door to the dungeon was still wide open, but Castiel froze in the doorway, shocked by the sheer chaos that greeted him. It was as if someone had stolen a record store wholesale along with whatever electronic outlet was closest.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him, startling the angel. “I wasn’t kidding when I said Dean was determined to get you back.”

“I don’t understand…” Castiel stuttered as he examined the stacks of records, 8-tracks, CDs, and mounds of cassette tapes sorted into shoe boxes.

“When Jack opened a crack to the Empty, he warned us we couldn’t go in and rescue you. But that we might be able to convince it to give you up. Dean remembered how you annoyed it so much that it let you go.

“So, he hit every contact he had. Anyone who owed him a favor, everybody we saved, and asked them to give him anything that would annoy the shit out of the Shadow. What you see is the response. We had people ship us 8-tracks, CDs from the 80’s pop scene, greatest hits from the disco age … you name it, we got it.”

“I see a lot of Hans Zimmer soundtracks,” Castiel muttered as he studied a stack of CDs.

“Dean loves the guy, but he figured playing _Gladiator_ over and over would get tiring for anyone. Or anything.”

Castiel dug up a pair of old-fashioned headphones along with a microphone from under a stack of papers. “Did Dean _listen_ to all this?”

Sam caught his gaping look of shock and laughed softly. “Yeah, he was the DJ. He even talked to the Shadow, trying his best to reason with it, you know? The truth is I don’t know if it let you go because it couldn’t stand the noise, or because it felt sorry for him.”

Castiel looked down at the microphone in his grasp. “He spoke about me?”

“Cas, he poured out his heart, when he wasn’t cussing up a storm,” Sam answered. “I’d come down and listen to him whenever I could. The truth is he hasn’t spoken like that since we were kids. Before Dad turned him into a soldier for himself, and a parent for me.

“And I’m glad he did, because Dean talked through a lot of shit he was forced to endure. Even before you came along. Some of it? Before Mom died, even. The truth is Dean was fixing Dad’s mistakes before the fire. No kid should have to do that. Ever.”

Castiel closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. As an angel he had witnessed all of Dean’s memories; since it was Castiel who saved him. But it was only now that Castiel could fully take into account of Dean’s feelings.

“So, he took on a cosmic entity that predates the Big Bang, and did it round-the-clock to get you back,” Sam said. “Now Dean didn’t tell me what happened when you got taken, but if he thinks getting you back was worth going crazy himself? Well, I’m not one to judge. And, if you’re curious, I think he made the right choice. 

“You two? You two are right together. Even when you guys aren’t … I just feel better knowing you two are wrong together.”

Castiel felt tears slowly creep down his cheeks. “I love him. I don’t think there was a time I have spent in his presence when I wasn’t in love with your brother.”

“Dean taught me that telling someone you love them is an honor. It could be sad and too-late, but an honor nonetheless. So, I won’t speak on his behalf. But just know that when a Winchester truly loves someone? It’s forever, Cas. Through the good, the bad, and the Apocalypses.”

Castiel burst into laughter.

“Yeah, and we’ve been through how many of those?” Sam said, grinning. “C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen. Dean’s whipping up enough food for you to eat the next few days. I think he’s afraid you’d starve while he’s gone.”

Castiel wiped away his tears and muttered, “I can make a sandwich.”

“Yeah, but he’s making Hawaiian fruit salad, and some kind of eggplant dish that's supposed to be delicious and healthy. He’s also experimenting something called chebureki. I haven’t a clue what it is.”

“It’s Russian, simple to make, but delicious,” Castiel said. “And since Dean’s making it, I’m sure he would be willing to spare us a few.”

“Just give him your big sad eyes. I’m sure that’d be enough for us to get enough to tide us over.”

They were in luck, as Dean was in the middle of making a pile of cheburekis for Castiel. And the stacks of Tupperware attested to the fact that Dean was indeed making enough meals for Castiel to last an entire week.

The three sat in companionable silence, dining late into the night. Not much was said between them, but the quiet didn’t bother them, as the silence was filled with warmth, happiness, and peace.

Departures littered next morning, with only Castiel staying. Not that any of the hunters who weren’t named Winchesters knew about it. Dean and Sam were cagey when it came to Castiel’s safety, so only after the new hunters left, did they even start packing. Eileen had already gone ahead, before sunrise, in order to establish base in San Jose. 

Sam sounded a bit nostalgic as he talked about their itinerary. But to Castiel he just sounded eager to get away from the Bunker, and spend some private time with his girlfriend.

“You’re gonna pop the question?” Dean asked, grinning.

Castiel’s gaze snapped to Sam. 

“I don’t have a ring yet,” Sam argued, but the bright flush on his face told a different story. 

“That’s just lame,” Dean said. “Besides, who needs an engagement ring? In our line of work, tattoos will do better.”

Sam’s gaze narrowed in consideration. “Yeah, I guess.”

Dean shoved his brother towards the garage entrance. “Just think about it. She’s great, and it’s not every day you get someone who can stand our line of work, and even thrive off of it.”

Sam gave a deep sigh. “Don’t I know it.”

Castiel waved goodbye as Sam drove away. To his surprise, Dean didn’t take his beloved Baby and chose a beat-up F-250 instead.

“I just want to be careful,” Dean explained. “Baby has become something of a legend in the backwoods. There’s even a song about her out of South Dakota. Saying how she’s a ghost hunting down evil. Never made the charts, but it’s pretty cool.”

Castiel’s grin was wide and toothy. “I am surprised it has taken this long. The Winchesters and their Impala becoming lore.”

Dean threw something in the air, and Castiel caught it with all the grace that could be afforded to an exhausted semi-human. He stared at the keys in his hand, not comprehending what he was seeing.

“Take care of her for me. If you’re up to it, you can go for a drive or something. I find I can think better when I'm behind the wheel.”

Castiel wondered not for the first time how Dean was so able to render him speechless without any machinations. He looked at his friend and saw a face painfully open with longing and something that was so bright – it could only be hope.

“I will,” Castiel hoarsely said, glad his voice was recovering. “Be careful.”

“Will text you when I stop for the night,” Dean said softly.

Castiel stayed mute as he watched the truck roar down the street. He had spent over a decade in Dean’s presence. And in those years, the former angel had learned the most important language for humans was one of action, not words. 

And fortified by this revelation, Castiel had set upon educating himself in the language of Dean.

It didn’t take long for Castiel to become fluent with his hands, deeds, and gaze. But what he loved most about it was when Dean spoke back to him; the two sharing an entire conversation with just looks and movement of shoulders and hands. Something they had to do whenever they were on a hunt. But it was during times of peace that Castiel was really able to savor the silent dialogue shared between them. Like this moment: the keys in his hand were a declaration of trust, friendship, and faith. And Castiel was sure that underlying all was love. 

His room, the clothes he wore, the food he had eaten and will dine on in the coming days. The money in his wallet … even the chaotic room where Dean in turn cajoled and tormented the Shadow until it released Castiel. All those deeds didn’t just speak to Castiel; they sang a song the angel hadn’t heard in since before he had become a soldier, before Lucifer fell. When the angels sang in glory to a God who didn’t really deserve the music. Yet, even as their eyes were deceived, their hearts were not. Castiel could castigate himself and his brethren for being so blind, or choose to understand that though the recipient of their love was unworthy, their love wasn’t. 

And in that ultimate forgiveness, Castiel found a separate peace. He gave a kiss on the hood of the Impala and whispered, “Can’t wait for Dean to drive us somewhere special.”

With a loving pat on the roof of the car, Castiel walked back to his room for some more rest, humming a tune that no human had the fortune to hear. But he was certain that sometime soon, a human would.


	2. Blue Velvet

As the clock approached nine, Castiel came down with a serious case of the cold feet. So, he texted while safely in bed, with Dean’s pillow tucked under his head.

  
_How was the drive?_

**(dean)** Boring. Flat. The truck’s engine nearly put me to sleep. 

_How is that possible? You can drive for hours without nodding off._

**(dean)** That’s only with Baby. Her engine sings. 

_I don’t think there is an emoticon that can express my disbelief with that statement._

**(dean)** o_0

  
Castiel burst out laughing.

  
_Who taught you that?_

**(dean)** I’d like to say somebody I saved, but it was Claire. She was playing with my phone, and then bullied me into a crash course on emoticons.

_You actually listened?_

**(dean)** Yeah, I remembered you saying you liked them.

  
And, once again, Castiel’s heart unspooled; his emotions just flying everywhere. When it came to the hidden corners of his heart – Dean was the only one who could shed light into those dark spaces without effort.

  
_Emoticons are useful. I can express my emotions clearer using them._

**(dean)** Cas, you don’t have to change yourself so others can be more comfortable with you. 

_I remember you telling me to never change._

**(dean)** Change if it makes you feel better. If you want to. Not because some asshole tells you to.  
_Some people mean well._

 **(dean)** Yeah, and I was one of those who meant well. And I was an asshole. So, I know what I’m talking about.

  
Cas leaned back in surprise. Dean, who was capable of dodging his emotions with godlike precision, seemed to be dealing in nothing but ruthless honesty when it came to self-reflection.

  
_I am touched by your candor, but I have to disagree with how you see yourself. People say they’re being ‘brutally honest’, but there are other types of honesty, too. Kind, careful, and helpful. I personally believe those types are great deal more useful and appreciated._

**(dean)** I should get Sam to make a cross-stitch pillow with that as the quote.

  
Castiel burst out laughing again. He could actually picture Sam’s hulking frame, bent over a small embroidery hoop, stitching the sentiments.

  
**(dean)** You should ask for it as a Christmas present. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.

_Is that what you do? Make your presents?_

**(dean)** Yeah, we couldn’t really afford to buy much growing up. And now, since we got a home and everything, I’d still like to make stuff. Home Ec was something I looked forward to in school.

_??_

**(dean)** Some schools had these classes where you learned to do life stuff. Cooking was a lifesaver for me. Mrs. Harris taught me everything, to making mac and cheese last, and cereal, and when things really do expire. Hint: it’s not what the label says. Budgeting was another big thing, but that was Ms. Kimmel over at Martin Luther High.

_Did you have a crush on both women?_

**(dean)** More like puppy love. Back when I was a kid, it was mainly taught by women unless you had shop for alphas that included mechanical stuff like car engines or radio repairs. And the female teachers were damn good at what they did. They got no respect from the rest of the faculty because they were omegas, but I adored them. Most of them had a tough life before finding their feet. 

_I sense you excelled in their classes._

**(dean)** Aced them all. Sometimes, they even let me take home the food the kids cooked for class. Lot of Midwest schools had them, but not so much in the coastal towns. Don’t know why.

  
Castiel wondered if Dean’s ability to survive under hellish conditions came from the fact that he was forced to live with the lack of basic essentials during his childhood. Even now, Dean made sure the refrigerator was filled with food, while guaranteeing the packages were always sealed tightly. And woe to any fool who thought they could just leave deli meats and cheeses unsealed after making a sandwich or a snack.

  
_BTW, the poke bowl was delicious. Thank you._

**(dean)** Glad you liked it. Was wondering if I used too much vinegar. Buddy, get some shut-eye. I want to wake up early, so I could get going. That way, I could get back home before the rest of the herd. 

  
Castiel took a hard swallow at what Dean was not saying.

  
_That sounds like a wonderful idea. Sleep well, Dean._

**(dean)** See ya soon.

  
Castiel plugged the phone in the charger and took a deep breath. He planned to contact Claire tomorrow. Sam had told him they had given their closest friends the good news of his return, but Castiel wanted to talk to them, too, especially Claire.

He was curious as to how she was doing. And if his relationship with Dean was going to change, he wanted Claire to know from him. Castiel also wanted to know where the dog was.

He had explored the Bunker after everyone had left, and discovered evidence of a dog’s presence. Its food and water bowl were evident, as the dog beds strewn about the place. But there was no dog.

  
_Sam, is there a dog? If yes, where is it? Please tell me it’s not dead._

**(sam)** No, Miracle’s not dead. We have a split custody with Jody, and it’s her turn. Don’t ask.

_I’m afraid I must. Split custody for a dog?_

**(sam)** Claire is a mean poker player. She loves Miracle, and the pooch adores her.

_All right then. Thank you for your answer._

**(sam)** Dean’s hilarious with Miracle. Can’t wait for you to see him with dog. Watching him take Miracle for a walk is a show all on its own.

_I definitely can’t wait to see that._

  
Sam promptly texted few pictures of Dean and what looked like a large mop on a tear down a dirt road. Unfortunately for Dean, he’s hanging on for a dear life, with the leash wrapped tightly up to his forearm.

The domesticity of the picture stirred an ache inside Castiel. He had a brief taste of what home-life was for humanity. But it was always paired with the fact that the situation was abnormal or supernatural, or both. So, Castiel had surrendered the idea of ever having the “apple-pie life”. It wasn’t until he had settled down in the Bunker with Jack that Castiel realized this particular type of existence wasn’t possible for him. And it wasn’t because of his circumstances, either.

Castiel could never outrun his past or who he was. The idea of setting up a nice home somewhere in suburbia was just that: an idea. In reality, Castiel’s past and his present dealings would have set fire to that nice three-bedroom midcentury abode a month after he moved in. That was if his boredom didn’t do it first. 

He loved the idea of domestic peace, because it stood in stark contrast to his not-so-domestic life. And that should one side of that coin completely engulf the other – the end result would be a coin declared to be counterfeit. That he would be living a lie, no matter how pleasantly manicured and maintained. Besides, Castiel wanted Dean. And wanting Dean meant accepting the baggage that came with him. 

What shocked Castiel was the fact that Dean seemed keen to accept not only Castiel, but the baggage that came along with the former angel. A baggage positively crammed with issues since Castiel existed before humanity crawled out of the sea. Still, Castiel really shouldn’t be so confused by Dean’s choice. The man was capable of astonishing things because he loved; a miracle Castiel had witnessed personally. 

Dean loved his brother, even his parents as complex and painful as that relationship was. And he came to love Jack, and grieved for his loss like any father.

Castiel sighed and turned off the lights. He really should get some rest. He wanted to be well enough so that when Dean returned, they’d be ready to face their future together, both in times of peace and strife. And knowing Dean? Those two often appeared hand in hand.

* * *

In his enthusiasm to get shit done in order to return home, Dean had completely forgotten most businesses didn’t open until after nine. So, he found himself parked outside a café, slowly sipping an over-priced coffee, while impatiently watching _Enlightened Antiquities_ across the street.

Dean had already cased the place twice, and mentally catalogued the business as selling mainly Victorian and Edwardian trinkets. Wooden sewing boxes, porcelain dolls, and walking sticks topped with silver handles seemed to be the theme. All designed to entice visiting tourists who came for the wineries and help them leave with lighter wallets.

Dean was debating whether to return to the motel to take a snooze when a lanky figure sat on the bench in front of the store. He was bored enough to study the newcomer, and what he saw made Dean wonder what the stranger was doing there in the first place. And since he was short on entertainment, Dean decided to pore his attention over the figure.

The man was almost as tall as Sam, but about half as broad. At first glance, Dean wondered if the guy was just released from the hospital. It was obvious from his hands that the stranger’s complexion was like Cas’. But, right now, he looked to be in worse shape than Cas, who was dragged out of the Empty only couple of days ago.

The man’s curly hair was plastered on the skull, with ringlets framing a long, narrow face. The eyes were startingly golden, amber-shaded in the weak morning sunlight. Dean also cataloged that the suit was tailor-made for the thin frame, and obviously from one of those posh boutiques that not even Sam could bullshit his way into. Supporting the idea of personal wealth, the man sported a cool 100k worth of jewelry just in the signet ring and watch. The shoes looked to be on par with the entire ensemble, and yet the guy was a walking billboard for the saying: ‘Money can’t buy you happiness’.

Which meant the guy just looked like shit warmed up on a regular basis. Dean felt a pang of sympathy for the stranger, as his downcast face strongly reminded him of Castiel when Dean had to turn him out of the Bunker so many years ago.

The man looked at the shop and then his watch. He then sighed and collapsed deeper into the bench, rubbing his eyes as if he were going to burst into tears like a toddler.

Dean crossed the street and checked the antique store’s hours stenciled across the door in elegant golden script.

The man looked at Dean, opened his mouth before shutting it with a notable snap. Dean looked at him.

“You okay, there?”

The guy looked up at Dean, shocked that anyone would bother to talk to him. “Um … yes.”

Dean smiled a little. “Anyone tell you you’re a terrible liar?”

“And did anyone tell you you’re rather forward?”

“All the damn time.”

The man’s smile was thin but genuine. “I apologize. I have family business that needs looking after, and it’s never a pleasant affair.”

Dean leaned back a little and pointed at store. “This is your family business?”

The man shook his head. “No, but I need to purchase something from them, on behest of my father.”

“Behest? Wow, that must be serious. Your dad’s a bit of a slave driver?”

The question startled the man and he shook his head quickly. “No, he passed away some time ago. It’s just that he had a request for me, and I promised him I would do it.”

“But if it’s making you so unhappy, should you be doing it? And if your dad’s a decent guy – then would he want you to be this miserable?”

The man smiled sadly. “I have asked those very questions many times, but the truth is what I want does not calculate into this particular affair.”

He took a deep breath and sighed. “And I must. I have to, you see? People need protection and … well, my family has been uniquely qualified to see to that for a long, long time.”

Dean’s gaze sharpened. “Exactly what is it you’re buying here?”

“A silver chalice, Kiddush cup to be exact.”

Dean blew out a deep breath. “What a coincidence. I’m here for the exact same thing.”

The man’s eyes widened in panic. “No, you can’t. You absolutely cannot buy it!”

“Why not?”

The man looked down at his hands, which were curled into fists. “It’s has a terrible history. And, well, it should never have made it across the Atlantic, to begin with. I would return it to the family but they all perished in the death camps. I don’t even know where they are buried.”

Dean slowly sat down next to the man. “Exactly what is it you do?”

The guy stared at him. “I might ask you the same question. The information I just gave you didn’t seem to shock you at all.”

Dean shrugged. “You might say I’ve come across some weird things in my line of work. And not just cursed objects.”

The man’s gaze dropped to Dean’s hands, then across Dean’s face thoroughly enough to spot the many small scars marring the skin. 

“You’re a hunter,” he whispered. “Damn it!”

“Okay, now I’m really curious. Who are you?”

“My name is Philip, and collecting such items is my life’s work. Such as it is.” He looked around, as if checking for someone who could help him in case Dean got violent.

Noticing the man’s tightening posture, Dean lightened his tone while relaxing his form. “I don’t get it. Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“If I tell you, would you let me buy the damn thing? And then refrain from robbing me five minutes after?”

“I’m not planning to rob ya.”

Philips raised a sharp eyebrow. “Really?”

Dean was amazed how much sarcasm the man was able to shove into a single word. Seriously, he and Cas should get into a contest for Battle Royale, Sarcasm Edition. 

“I was going to see if I could buy it at a reasonable price,” Dean admitted. 

“And if it wasn’t at a reasonable price, you’d break in after hours and take the damn thing.”

Dean shrugged. “That was on the menu, but I saw the price online and it looked reasonable.”

Philip leaned forward. “Word of advice? The prices on the websites are a scam. It’s calculated to lure naïve buyers. And when you do, they will inform you that the online pricing was an unfortunate mistake, before raising it by fifty percent. Or worse, depending on how desperate they are.”

Dean winced. “I was afraid of that.”

“And now you have me to deal with.”

“Yep,” Dean said with a smile. 

“I honestly wish you’d come in earlier and stolen the goblet,” Philip said wistfully. “It would have made my day.”

“Yeah, I still don’t get why you’re doing this,” Dean said, jerking a thumb at the store. “Do you go shopping for cursed objects often? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, that’s a nasty habit.”

“But necessary, I’m afraid. It’s tradition in my family, you see, to go after such things. Because if we don’t,” Philip struggled to continue explaining, “if we don’t … well, the younger generation will pay dearly for our refusal.”

“Wait, are you saying that if you don’t go around buying cursed stuff, your kids _die_?”

Philip closed his eyes and drooped. “Something like that, yes. You see, I had a twin brother, Alan, and a sister whom I’ve never met because she was the firstborn. And now? Well, now there’s only me.”

Dean leaned forward. “Buddy, are you saying you’re cursed?”

“Not me, my entire family.”

“You have a child?” Dean asked softly. “Phil? Is there a child?”

“I fell in love with someone almost a decade ago,” Philip confessed softly, as if fearing someone was listening. “Our relationship didn’t last, and it was only years after that I’d discovered I had a boy. His mother refuses any help from me, of course. Lydia was always so independent, and I’ve always admired that. I just wish she’d told me earlier.

“Anyway, if I want him to survive…” Philip looked at the store, “then I must honor my legacy.”

“You know I’m a hunter, so trust me when I say I know people who are very familiar with curses,” Dean offered. “And they’re good at dealing with that shit.”

Philip gave a dry chuckle. “Let me see, all they want in return is fair payment? I’ve been down that road, and I have no desire to go any further. Before you ask, my family had dealt with hunters. Some actually meant well, but the end result was always the same.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m serious. If your family is cursed, I’m pretty sure we can take a whack at it.”

Philip looked at Dean, and for the first time Dean saw a glimmer of hope. 

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, and we’re not looking for payment, either. My family’s business is hunting things that’ll rip out your throat, but we’ve dealt with much worse stuff, too.”

“Such as?” Philip asked, his voice wavering.

“Demons? Demigods?”

“Bloody Christ,” Philip took a deep breath. “All right, then. Look, I must purchase the cup. I can’t let anything happen to my son.”

“Okay, you buy the thing, and then … umm … I guess I can follow you to your home? Please tell me you drove here.”

Philip smiled. “Yes, I did. My father purchased a winery some time ago. It gives us enough space to house the cursed objects, and not attract too much attention. Unfortunately, we took a bad hit last year with the draught and the wildfires. So, we’re in the midst of a rebuild, and it’s an unholy mess.”

A woman who strongly reminded Dean of Judi Dench stopped by the bench.

“You boys have an appointment?” she asked with a bright smile.

“Yes, I do,” Philip said, standing up. “I should be in the appointment book? Name is Philip Stevens.”

“I’m Meredith,” she said, unlocking the door. “Come in. And who’s your handsome friend?”

“I’m Dean.”

“He’s a family acquaintance,” Philip said. “Dropped by to help with the winery.”

Meredith looked contrite. “Oh, you were hit last summer?”

“Not as badly as some of our neighbors. But bad enough, I’m afraid.”

Dean was grateful that Philip was able to take the lion’s share of Meredith’s attention, as the two continued to chat amiably. As he studied the store’s interior, Dean definitely noticed an upgrade in the wares offered. Alongside the usual knickknacks catering to tourists, there was a serious collection of family bibles along with silverwork, heavily focused on religious themes.

Meredith did check to confirm Philip’s appointment, before retrieving a small velvet box from the back office. Dean immediately spotted the brown drops sprayed liberally across the top.

 _That’s fucking blood_ , he thought with revulsion. He was glad when Philip handled it, opening the clasp to reveal a petit silver goblet. It was a work of beauty and devotion, still gleaming. But Dean didn’t want to examine it any further. Something about it made him queasy. 

_Definitely cursed_ , he concluded silently and wandered further in, to study the various jewelry on display. Dean noticed a pair of matching silver wedding bands, inlaid with what looked like vines, with the leaves made out of stones of different color. It was obviously made for woman and man, but Dean took a picture of it. He wondered if there was a jeweler who could recreate the design, as it was both beautiful and intricate. Just like Cas.

Realizing he was thinking about wedding bands alongside Castiel, Dean scurried back to cashier’s desk to see Philip grab a small shopping bag topped with green tissue paper. Dean gave a polite wave of farewell and followed his guide outside.

“I might not be a psychic, but that thing’s cursed,” he whispered.

“It makes my skin crawl,” Philip agreed, and brushed a bead of sweat from his brow. “But I have a room designed to contain such things.”

“You okay, there? Do you want to get something to drink?” Dean offered.

Philip shook his head. “I will feel a great deal better when this thing is out of my hands and locked away.”

“Okay, then. Where do you live?”

Philip pulled up Google Map on his phone and showed Dean, who copied both the address and the travel route.

“I can follow you if you’re parked close by.”

Philip pointed at a surprisingly non-descript grey Honda sedan.

“Bad form for me to drive a Mercedes, when my neighbors are fighting to stay in business,” he explained. “And it’s a very reliable vehicle.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Dean agreed before darting across the street where his truck was parked. Philip took local roads, which confused Dean. But he figured the guy knew what he was doing. And since the drive was slow going, he decided to call Sam.

* * *

Sam and Eileen carefully stashed the Art Nouveau hand mirror in a binding box. It was a beautiful piece of work, but they even avoided looking into the mirror, and wrapped it in a blessed mass linen before packing it away.

Eileen was looking at the ‘Edward Gorey’s Shopping List’ when Sam got Dean’s call.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked.

“I got a lead on something big,” Dean said. There was great deal of interference and Sam was afraid the call had dropped. “Gonna follow this guy, Philip … he’s got more cursed objects … call later.”

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“Yeah? Bad connection here!”

“I know, what’s happening?”

“Wildfire last year. It’s like Lucifer had an orgy … cell towers are … will try … better connection.”

“Okay, keep me updated,” Sam cautioned his brother before ending the call.

“Everything okay?” Eileen asked when she saw him studying the phone in his grasp with a frown.

“Yeah, Dean came across a guy named Philip. He gave new leads on more cursed objects.”

“I’m not surprised,” Eileen commented. “Estate sales are messy to track.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just when it comes to Dean? He’s good at finding trouble.”

Sam’s hands flew at the word ‘trouble’, conveying his anxiety.

Eileen grinned. “But we have Cas now. He’s got a working line to Dean. That ‘profound bond’ you keep making fun of.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, there’s that.” 

He clapped his hands and peered over Eileen to take a look at the list. 

“One more store and San Jose is done!” Eileen said. Her nose then wrinkled. “San Francisco?”

Sam pulled her into his arms and looked down at her. “We can stay at a decent hotel. Maybe have a meal at a nice restaurant. Nobody said we can’t have fun while working on the list.”

Eileen’s smile was blinding. “Sounds good.”

Sam kissed the top of her head. “It does. It really does.”

* * *

Dean whistled as he examined the carnage that littered the roads. Some wineries were left untouched, while others looked more suitable for hell.

Philip signaled and turned into a gravel-paved drive that was lined with gorgeous aspen trees in full regalia. 

“Jesus,” Dean whispered as a large building loomed ahead. The place reminded him of a mansion he was forced to burgle as a teenager in order to retrieve Sam’s stolen backpack. A bully, whose parents were more absent than present, had taken to tormenting Sam during fifth grade, and took it too far. Dean had retrieved Sam from the school nurse, with his younger brother’s face busted twenty ways to Sunday. But what concerned Sam most was the fact that little bastard had taken his backpack which contained all his schoolwork and textbooks.

It took Dean less than an hour to find out where the walking target practice lived, and retrieved the bag. He also took some cash as payment rendered for all the beatings Sam had to endure. And, just for kicks, fucked up the kid’s gaming system while the little psycho slept not ten feet away. The bully never bothered Sam again. 

When Philip got out of his car, Dean half expected a butler to come out and greet the man with a silver tray of champagne or maybe a crystal tumbler of whiskey.

Dean parked his truck right behind what he suspected was either a garage or a working barn, making sure no one could get a casual eyeful of the truck from either the road or the driveway.

“Um, this is some place,” he commented, looking around. “Do you have folks working here?”

Philip shook his head. “I never retrieve an object when the staff are present. It’s too dangerous.”

Dean paused and nodded his head. “Okay, that makes sense.”

Philip had a keyless remote, and the front doors swung open soundlessly. The two men walked into a foyer that boasted marble floors and a pedestal showcasing a large vase of freshly-cut flowers.

“I feel like I should’ve used the servant’s entrance,” Dean muttered, feeling remarkably uncomfortable.

“I’d like to claim that I earned all this, but the truth is I am one of those trust fund brats,” Philip confessed. “My money makes money at this stage, and I am fortunate enough not to pay attention to financial matters.”

Dean gave Philip a very hard look. “I don’t get it. Was it really that hard for your family to break the curse?”

“This way,” Philip said softly. “It’s better if I show you.”

He led Dean up the main, operatic staircase. Then, less showy ones, until Dean calculated they were at the top floor. However, instead of an attic, there was a large hallway with only one door. Once more Philip used a keyless remote and Dean heard a discreet click.

There was a large whoosh of air right as Philip opened the door, which signaled to Dean that the room was some type of air-tight containment unit.

“This is the Collection Room,” Philip explained. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Holy shit,” Dean whispered as they entered a room that ran the entire length of the house.

Its sheer scale reminded Dean of a museum, and the numerous display cases were filled with objects from across the globe.

“What is all this?” he asked.

“A curse,” Philip explained. “Our family fortune came from my father’s Dutch ancestors. And they made their money on the transatlantic slave trade. So, so much money, Dean. Money to burn. Money to hide their sins, at least for a time.”

“Slave trade?”

Philip nodded, his thin frame listing dangerously. “But sins of that nature … sooner or later will be visited on their sons. The legend says that one of the victims, a woman, was a powerful sorceress. She cursed the captain of the ship, who happened to be one of my forefathers. And the curse was simple: all the following generations will repent for the vile acts committed during the slave trade, or the youngest will fall victim to a horrible fate.”

“For how long?”

“How many, to be exact,” Philip said. “As many as the poor souls who died during the transportation and subsequent slavery. One child per one life lost.”

“So … thousands?” Dean asked, unable to even imagine the numbers involved.

“Hundreds of thousands,” Philip corrected. “Dutch slave trade was active right through 1863 and longer, even though slavery was officially abolished in 1863.”

Dean looked around the room once more. “So, this collection helps you guys how?”

“We get visions of sorts, while we sleep. We stop a cursed object from falling into innocent hands, and we get another day. If we have children, then they live to see another sunrise. If we fail to stop it from happening … the youngest Stevens pays the price with their life.”

“And this has been going on since the 1800s?”

Philip nodded. “It started after the captain of the ship, one Captain Bran Van Dijk, successfully delivered his cargo. He had six children. At the end, he had none. His sister, who was married, had three. All died within a single year. His brother had four, and only one survived. And that was because Joost Van Dijk was a priest who was familiar with the supernatural. 

“Out of twelve children, only one survived.”

Dean shook his head. “So, this …”

“It’s revenge in its purest form,” Philip tearfully explained. “The curse forces us to realize what it was like to live under constant terror, not only for ourselves but for our loved ones. Academically, I can understand why she cursed us, sympathize even. But it’s just … this … I just want it to stop.”

“When did it start for you?” Dean asked, approaching Philip as if he were a skittish horse.

“The week after my father’s death, almost two years ago,” Philip answered. “There is no pattern to the visions, either. Believe me, I’ve tried to figure out if there was one, and when I failed, I hired the best academics in their field to see if there was a discernable pattern. They also came up with nothing.”

“This is going to sound rude, but why do you guys have children? If this is what happens?”

Philip gave a dull laugh. “We never mean to have children, Dean. I had my tubes tied when I was eighteen. Lydia wasn’t supposed to be able to have a child.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean hissed. “So, the curse itself guarantees its survival.”

Philip placed the cup inside a glass case and closed the lid. “No matter what we do, there is at least one child. The rumor was my great-grandmother was actually barren, but she had twins in her early forties. Something that was unheard of during her time.”

Dean wanted to place a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder, but something told him Philip would not appreciate any sort of physical contact in this particular room.

“If you’re done, we can go,” he said.

Philip tersely nodded and left; his steps sedately paced. Dean wondered if the man refused to give into the fear that permeated the room.

They took a deep breath the moment the door shut behind them. 

“Do you want a drink?” Philip offered. “I find myself wanting a strong glass of bourbon after days like today.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Philips’ steps were positively jaunty as he led his guest down the marble steps. Dean ambled behind, paying attention to the intricate wood paneling, when his right foot flew out from under him.

He felt the stone steps slam into the back of his head, but the pain wasn’t explosive enough to cover Philip’s cry of alarm as he tumbled down the flight of stairs.

* * *

Philip sighed, and looked at the storefront from his car. He didn’t know why he kept up the charade anymore since it hasn’t netted any prospective suitors in nearly a decade. Still, Philip had a great fondness for his hobby; something he’d cultivated since the Great War.

If he had been careless, Philip would’ve missed the figure darting across the street to check on the antique store. But his attention had been neatly divided between his phone and _Enlightened Antiquities_ , so he immediately looked up to study the man that came into view.

His eyes widened in shock: _Dean Winchester_. 

Philip couldn’t believe his luck, as he covetously examined the hunter studying the storefront before returning to his observation post across the street. Philip was wise enough to know he was in constant danger of being found out and destroyed by someone like the Winchesters. But after living for so long, he’d gotten sloppy. Until he’d seen the signs of the Apocalypse in the horizon only few years ago.

Then there was that spate of bizarre anomalies that nobody was able to explain . The scientific mindset dismissed it as a combination of abnormal weather patterns and some bizarre phenomenon from space. 

Philip knew better than to trust those explanations, and paid various human and supernatural agencies to discover the causes. The answer was shocking. There was supposed to have been an apocalypse. Lucifer did rise, but was somehow shoved back into the cage, not once but twice. But the bizarre weather phenomenon was so out of everyone’s understanding that Philip never got an acceptable explanation from any credible source.

The only common factor that underlined all the apocalyptic events was the presence of the Winchester brothers. A familiar name that had cropped up on Philip’s radar for well over a decade. Even though he never considered John Winchester to be a credible threat, his sons were a different matter altogether. So, Philip created a dossier on the men, and found them positively fascinating.

Still, no photos could do justice to the creature that caught Philip’s eye. The man was shorter than him, but broader in the shoulders. And underneath the well-worn jacket was a body honed by a lifetime of hunting and grueling work. His movements, the way he handled even the dullest objects, nearly crippled Philip with longing. 

Over centuries, Philip had come across people who reminded him of his youth. And even then, he was all too aware of his self-deception. But looking at Dean Winchester, Philip was almost convinced he could feel the sand and dust on his skin, the cries of men delirious with battle rage, and the pungent scent of horse sweat. The glory that belonged to Philip and his men, when the victors returned to their homeland.

Tears blurred his vision, forcing Philip to quickly wipe his face. He rolled down the window to take a breath of fresh air when a scent knifed into his senses. Philip couldn’t believe it. From all the intel, Dean Winchester was either an alpha or a beta-prime. Everything in his file supported that supposition. But that perfume was unmistakable. 

Dean Winchester was a fully-matured, unmated and unbonded _omega_. And ripe beyond all imagining.

Philip buried his face in his hands, as his loneliness and hunger threatened to overwhelm him. He had fed, but not well. Not since the Great War, when he’d discovered his soldier-servant was an omega in hiding. Wesley was a precious find, and loyal until his last breath to the man he’d sworn to serve and protect. It was only when Wesley’s kidneys were failing and he’d weighed less than six stones that Philip ended his life. Even as he lay dying, Wesley had asked some of his ashes to be encased in a ring, so that Philip would have something to remind him of how greatly he was loved.

The memento mori didn’t survive the explosion Philip had engineered during the last days of Nazi’s reign in France. And even now he’d still ached with the loss of its weight on his finger. But even Wesley’s scent could not compare to the complex bouquet that threatened to drown Philip as he sat in the car.

Philip had marked preference for omegas in his diet, because of the ceaseless difficulties they suffered for no other reason than their secondary gender. If they managed to survive and conquer the horrific obstacles thrown their way, their very essence becomes so very complex and delicious. It was as if their very experiences salt the meat in a way to make them irresistible for someone with Philip’s appetite.

He surreptitiously wiped the saliva threatening to drown his palate. Philip should be ashamed of himself, but it had been too long, and he decided to indulge in his weakness instead. He studied the hunter, and quickly reformulated his tried-and-true trap, when successful, netted him hunters, a favorite in his diet. But Dean Winchester was not just any prey: he was the best prey. This also meant he had to be careful. The first time he’d caught a hunter, the woman nearly killed him. And that was in 1965, with her in a getup of a mini dress and a pair of dashing red go-go boots.

She was a beta, but her scent was as fascinating as any omega. It was only after their relationship had fully blossomed that Lucy recounted the story of the vampire that had wiped out her family, with her the only survivor because she had hidden herself outside of her bedroom window. And while her friends grew up wearing pearls and cashmere sweater sets, she had quietly discovered another hunter willing to teach her the hard, ugly truths about the supernatural world. 

Lucy lasted Philip nearly a year, and her death was as sweet as her sacrifices. She just never woke from a nap she’d taken during a peaceful summer afternoon. And Philip loathed to disturb such a beatific tableau when he came upon her body, so he’d buried her in the garden where her corpse would feed the roses she so adored.

After Lucy, Philip quietly hunted those who would hunt him. He would pepper in regular civilians, omegas exclusively, but they were getting harder to obtain as the years progressed. Before the Great War, omegas were treated as mere convenience, so it was easy for a man of means to either purchase or hire one. But now, with human rights and the internet, Philip found it difficult to net an appropriate companion without raising undue alarm.

Still, Dean Winchester was too good a meal to let go. A boon like him could keep Philip in bliss for years. But he had to be careful. If Dean Winchester was nearby, the odds were good that his younger brother wasn’t too far away. And even though the older brother was flagged as the hothead, Philip suspected it was the younger one who was liable to go nuclear without warning.

And then there were the whispers of a third hunter in that elite unit: someone purported to be an angel of all things. At first Philip dismissed the idea as absurd. He had come across enough demonic activity to suspect demons were real, but an actual angel? 

Still, if a creature like him existed, then, an angel wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility. After all, Philip had lived so long that history had completely forgotten his kind had once been the most sought-after advisors of emperors and queens. Not even myths originating from his homeland ever told of Philip and his brethren. The ones who catalogued before collecting people’s dreams and nightmares. And by doing so, slowly but surely siphoned off their beloved’s very soul as they ate their fill.


End file.
